iting, he forgot all about his surroundings, his mind being full of
Lalage. When, at last, he had finished and signed his name, in full, as
a sign of his trust in her, disdaining any subterfuge, he looked round
the luxuriously furnished room, and for an instant he was filled with a
sense of his own folly; then, hurriedly, as though ashamed of what he
was doing, he thrust the letter into an envelope and sealed it down,
afterwards posting it with his own hands.

The hours dragged by slowly. The Marlow house had seemed dull; but the
Fentons' was almost unbearable. Ida meant to be kind; but, perhaps,
because she tried to show her intention, she only succeeded in making
Jimmy feel his position as a poor relation. She took him for a drive in
the afternoon to call on one or two elderly ladies in reduced
circumstances, whom she patronised unconsciously, greatly to the
discomfort of her brother, who had a kind of fellow feeling for her
victims. Yet, on the other hand, he was conscious of a grim admiration
for Ida; she was so sure of her own rectitude, so convinced that her
husband's wealth--which meant her own position--entitled her to lecture
and to interfere. It was all interesting, even amusing, or it would have
been so, had Lalage never come into his life, in which case he could
have regarded Mrs. Fenton from a more or less impersonal point of view.
Now, however, she was a possible danger, to be guarded against,
and--though he did not like to put it that way--to be lied to, if
occasion demanded.

That night, Jimmy hardly closed his eyes, being occupied with the
problem of inventing an excuse for getting back to town. The evening
post had brought him no letters; and, though it was improbable that
Lalage would have any real news for him, he was terribly worried at her
silence. Lying then through the long hours, praying for the sleep which
would not come to ease him from the hideous pain of jealousy, he
suffered as few men can suffer in their lives. He had no right to
control Lalage, no more claim on her than anyone else had, he was mad to
trouble about her, knowing what he did of her, and having ten years'
experience of women behind him. Yet he lay there, wide-eyed, wondering,
and tormenting himself. Twice he got up and endeavoured to smoke a
cigarette, but all to no purpose. The tobacco tasted rank, and, after a
few whiffs, he let the thing go out. When, towards morning, he did fall
into a heavy sleep, it was only to dream o